


Unspoken

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [84]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, Love, M/M, Pre-Relationship, TV Show spoilers, angelic rules
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:42:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19232110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: There are things a good angel would not ask for. So Aziraphale does not ask for them in words.





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> The last of my reaction ficlets to the tv show: a character study of Aziraphale and the sequence with the paint on his coat.

He’s gotten into trouble for it before, frivolous miracles. He performs too many of them, he’s told, not just for himself but for the humans as well. And he’s an _angel_. Asking for that sort of thing wouldn’t be proper. It’s vanity, plain and simple, and Aziraphale has always been grateful that being vain has never been a particularly tempting sin for him. He does love this jacket, the way he loves all his clothes. He has taken painstaking care of it for nearly two centuries, and it should have lasted at least two more without issue. But it is just fabric. He shouldn’t say a word. If he was a Good angel, he wouldn’t say a word.

But Crowley is circling him, that little half-smile – although in this case closer to a grimace - that Aziraphale will never admit to loving gracing his lips, serpentine amusement, like his own but sharper somehow. Acidic. Crowley is circling him and he is close and Aziraphale cannot help it because _they_ are close. He does not need to speak a word as Crowley comes to a stand-still, other than to imply that he cannot do it himself. He half-turns. He gives Crowley a meaningful look, a slight lifting and furrowing of the eyebrows, slightly pleading eyes. And Crowley understands, as Aziraphale knew he would. He leans in, amusement sharpening further, and Aziraphale allows his pulse to jump, allows himself to smile as Crowley blows the stain away.

“Oh, thank you,” he says, but he doesn’t just mean it for the miracle. It is so much more than that. It is a thank you for being there, for knowing Aziraphale as well as he knows Crowley. A thank you for taking things slow when even glacial speed feels too fast for an angel scared of Falling. It is a thank you for the unspoken between them, because Aziraphale knows, and he knows Crowley knows, but there are words that Aziraphale cannot say, feelings he cannot express in more than a small, indulgent smile.

Aziraphale cannot allow himself to think about why they’re there. Cannot begin to consider that the End Times really are upon them. Because 6000 years is not enough and at the pace they’re moving neither is 6000 more, and Aziraphale cannot, he _cannot_ contemplate the thought of choosing sides because his choice is already made. It has to be. He cannot disobey. If it comes down to Crowley or Heaven, Aziraphale will chose Heaven, and it will break his heart.

But he can smile at a bit of kindness. He can ask for it without really asking, because Crowley knows him and he knows Crowley, and he knows how a demon – his demon – shows love. And even if he can’t return it, not yet, Aziraphale can let Crowley have this. Maybe, one day, he’ll even be able to say it back.


End file.
